Love Your Way
by greenovalfruit
Summary: Tracey Kibre is a senior at Saint Jude's Preparatory School and there she meets an intriguing younger student by the name of Alex Cabot. Who does what to whom? AU :: L&O SVU crossover :: femslash :: rated for later chapters :: A/T :: Review please!


The grounds were huge, complete with rolling green lawns, a high chapel and a lake amongst various sporting fields and school buildings. Each day dawned bright and clear, just like in the glossy brochures sent out by the secretary of administration to likely scholarship candidates and the wealthy parents of young lawyers, doctors and bankers to be. The whole of the school, from the high ceilinged study and dining hall to the red and gold crest hand embroidered onto the breast pocket of each student's blazer, was regal, elegant and perfect. Or, at least, this was the way the parents of Saint Jude students liked to see it.

Tracey Kibre had discarded the rose coloured glasses on her first visit to the aristocratic school, three years ago. Her parents had ooh-ed and aah-ed accordingly, suggesting various pastimes for their rather solitary daughter as they strolled through the grounds, led by a senior prefect. Tracey had mumbled a few agreements and smiled at the boy who had introduced himself as James Flowers, Captain of Rowing and Mock Trials. He had asked her what she was interested in studying and she hesitated, before saying that she wasn't entirely sure.

"She has so many choices, you see." Her father laughed deeply, sucking on one of his fine cigars before continuing. "She's the brightest spark in the fire." With that he patted Tracey's head, leaving her dark curls undisturbed above her polo neck. Just then, her mother, a sighing, simpering woman with pale skin and fair hair, tugged on her husband's arm and pointed towards the lake.

"Look at the swans, honey! Oh how darling!" Tracey's father gave another manly laugh and steered her mother down the lawn towards the lake. The dark 14 year old glanced at the tall boy in front of her, a look of pure embarrassment across her features. He smiled and winked at her, turning to watch Tracey's parents approach the glassy water where the sun shone like gold.

"My dad used to do that, too. And my mother is on all the school comities. I completely understand what that's like." He looked back at Tracey and grinned. She smiled in return and kicked at a pebble in front of her sneakers, watching it bounce into the grass.

"It's the superficiality that kills me. He doesn't really find everything that amusing. They're like a pair of those swans." She gestured towards the animals being cooed over by Mrs Kibre at the water's edge. "Showy and elegant on the outside…" Her eyes darkened, ".. but able to break your arm in a second." She glanced back to James Flowers who seemed interested in what she had to say, his lips curved into a slight smile but his forehead creased with concentration. Like he was taking her seriously but couldn't restrain his general cheeriness.

"They can't be that bad." Said James quietly, without a hint on condescension. He began to walk slowly down the path and Tracey followed him, taking measured steps as she thought over his words.

"No, they aren't. My Dad can get a little voluble after drinks with his work colleagues." She glanced quickly at the tall prefect beside her and caught his understanding look. A lot of high flying fathers had the same habits. "My Mom has a tendency to get frustrated with my lack of interest in becoming a debutante and wearing white gloves with those _adorable _lace trims…" James chuckled at Tracey's impersonation and she smiled, pleased with herself for making him laugh.

"Another reason I am happy to be male." He grinned and she rolled her eyes, tucking her small hands into her jeans pockets for safekeeping. She watched her shoes as they kept walking along the gravel path. "So, do you enjoy ballet?" Tracey looked up, eyes wide.

"How did you know I dance?" She stopped walked and James stood beside her as she blinked in confusion. He chuckled again and looked her up and down openly, a friendly smile on his face.

"Besides the fact that your feet go to first position every time your mother opens her mouth," Tracey blushed looking down to her sneakers, rearranging her feet so they were pressed together, toes even. "You definitely have a dancer's body." Tracey's eyes widened again and she looked up to find her guide smiling mischievously. He shrugged his shoulders and gave his best shot at an innocent look. Failing that, he shook his head, still smiling. "Ok, well, my little sister being a tap queen and hanging around all the ballet students may have given me some assistance in spotting similar types." Tracey narrowed her eyes playfully and hit him on the arm. He feigned injury and that set them both off laughing, disturbing the quiet of the placid grounds. They began walking again in a companionable silence.

"So…" James started, receiving an encouraging noise from Tracey as their feet shifted the gravel on the curving path, "What's a Prima Ballerina doing scoping out Saint Jude's?" Tracey smirked at the title, asserting that she was far from the likes of Anna Pavlova or Margo Fontaine (both of whom she had large framed photos of on her bedroom wall, not that she'd tell him) and that it was her father's idea.

"He went to school with Mr Forsythe in Boston." She said absently, watching her parents stroll arm in arm, having abandoned the swans, along the lake's edge, mirroring their own path. She missed the pole-axed expression on the prefect's face and didn't notice his shock until he grabbed her arm and spun her towards him.

"You mean Forsythe as in Headmaster from Hell?" Tracey was a little surprised at his fervour and nodded, looking puzzled.

"Yeah, I guess so…" She raised an eyebrow questioningly and James loosened his grip on her arm until he was hardly touching her, looking apologetic.

"Sorry, I got a bit carried away there. But that means your dad is David Kibre of The Kibre Wing!" Understanding crossed Tracey's face and she smiled, relieved that it didn't mean something incredibly bad to be on close terms with the Headmaster.

"Yeah, that's right. It's the old science block attached to the main building, isn't it?" She seemed unconcerned with James' revelation and continued walking along the path. He hurriedly caught up to her and shook his head, amazed.

"Not anymore. It was converted into senior dorms and the school library five years ago. It's the classiest building on the grounds. Obviously, it's one of the only ones they'll let the visitors tour on Open Day." He grinned at Tracey, winking happily, his expression slipping back into easy wonderment. "Wow, I can't believe I've met the Count's daughter." Tracey frowned.

"My dad's not a Count." James snorted.

"Oh, w ell, no. That's just what we call him. We figured he'd have to be a royal or something for old Forsythe to refurbish his building for over 10 mill. and keep his name on. Usually they rename the flashy fitted out wings after whoever donated the most during the Appeal."

"Right." Tracey wasn't entirely sure what to think of that. They kept walking in an uneasy silence before James cleared his throat.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. It's just something we say. It doesn't mean anything." He sounded truly sorry for making her uncomfortable. He paused, a smile edging it's way across his lips, "Except that you're a Contessa."

Tracey looked up at him with her dark eyes, the 'don't fuck with me' look, but seeing his lopsided grin, she couldn't help but smile a little. "There's the money shot!" He laughed and she popped him again on the shoulder, rolling her eyes.

"So, you think this'll be your new home?" James stopped at a junction on the path, watching as Tracey's parents made their way up slowly from the lake. Tracey looked out over the crystal water, eyes half shut against the bouncing light.

"Maybe. Saint Jude's has a pretty good dance school, right?" James shifted, looking back at Tracey.

"My sister is living proof that it is so good, it'll teach you to be a prima donna as well as a Prima Ballerina." The look, again, but not so serious. He raised his hands in a defeated gesture. "Ok, ok. Yes, it's a very good school. We have some serious dancers thrown in with the general cheer squad. Is that what you want to do then? Dance?" Tracey watched her mother whisper something in her father's ear, which caused him to roar with laughter. She winced.

"I… think so. I love to dance." She stopped, looking at her mother's handbag swinging from her thin forearm. She turned back to James, hard resolve in her eyes. He found her very interesting for a girl so young. She had a strange sense of power in her small frame. "What else has this place got going for it?"

"Well, we've got the best teachers. I really mean that. Some subjects, you might feel like you're being taught by a Neanderthal whereas, in other schools, you probably are being taught by a Neanderthal. My favourite subjects personally are Maths and Legal Studies. And just because I'm meant to plug them doesn't make this any less true; Mock Trials are great. It's like Drama, English and Legal Studies all rolled into one."

"I like English." Tracey volunteered. James smiled and leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially.

"And you can really clean up if you know who to lay your money on." Tracey laughed at the joke and then, realising he wasn't kidding, laughed even harder. Overcoming her mirth just as her parents were nearing the Senior and herself, Tracey thought for a moment.

"Mock Trials sound like fun. And if your teachers are as _fantastic_ as you claim, I can't see what trouble I would have with this place." She smiled at James again, extremely glad to find someone who entertained her so, and listened to her as well. What her mother didn't understand was that she didn't like false affection. That's why she wasn't at sleepovers with other daughters of rich businessmen.

"Flowers, my man! When are we getting to the Dining Hall? I'm starved!" Mr Kibre roared, gesturing grandly with his cigar. James motioned with his own hand for them to follow the path clearly leading back to the main building. Tracey's parents walked in front, leaving the two teenagers to bring up the rear. The prefect offered Tracey his arm and she took it, smirking at his impersonation of her father. He didn't notice Mr Kibre's tight grip on his wife's arm nor did he register the tremble of Mrs Kibre's arm not quite holding up her handbag. Most of all, he didn't detect the slight tug on his arm as Tracey caught both these things. She saw more than she let on.

Six months later, Tracey's mother died. The funeral was brief, attended by under a hundred people. Tracey stood by the open grave in her black dress and black coat, black stockings and shoes. Her curls hung down her neck, longer than they were when she walked by the lake half a year ago. Her skin was as pale as that of her dead mother and nobody dared mention it during the service. Her brown eyes had lost some of their intensity. But she hadn't cried. Only at home, in the dead of night, did she let her tears fall.

It was mid November and Tracey hadn't been to school since the end of May, just before she'd been visiting various prep schools with her parents. Her holidays had been spent dancing, every day to the school a short ride from her family's large house in Manhattan. It would have been a 20 minute journey in the chauffeur driven Mercedes but Tracey often preferred to take the subway. She could be lost in a crowd of people and sometimes even forget what she was running from. Her mother was getting sicker and her father was coming home fewer nights a week sober. As the weeks went by, Tracey would spend whole days at the dance school, taking four or five classes one right after the other. Classical, Pointe, Jazz, Tap, Modern. She would take anything available and, as there were two or three teachers to each type of dance, nobody much noticed her constant presence in rehearsal spaces or locker rooms except the students. The older one not paying her any attention and the younger dancers regarding her with awe. The teachers were just happy to have a dancer completely focussed on developing their skills in class. Apart from Miss Vanessa.

Vanessa Turner had been teaching at that particular dance academy since Tracey had started taking Ballet Classes. Starting with the younger dancers, Vanessa had been delighted with Tracey from their first class together. The tiny 5 year old with curly dark hair had joined halfway through the school year, in January, just as Vanessa had stepped in to take a pregnant teacher's class. Most of the preschoolers were more interested in running around on tippy toes and playing with their tutus but not Tracey. She'd watch Vanessa carefully and mimic every position she showed the squealing class. By the end of the first lesson, Tracey had first through fifth position down perfectly and was excited to learn more from her new teacher. She'd whispered secretly that, "Piano wasn't as fun." to her new teacher before being called away by a bright, blonde haired mother standing at the door. She'd waved happily as her designer clad parent picked her up and Vanessa had waved back at the smiling 5 year old.

Since then, Vanessa had taken Tracey's Classical class every single year, guiding her through each dance exam and performance, nurturing Tracey's formidable talent. They'd become good friends and Tracey admired and looked up to her Ballet teacher in every respect. As she started to spend more and more time at the school over the break, Vanessa began to question Tracey's motives. One Tuesday in August, two weeks before Tracey was due to start High School, Vanessa found her in the locker rooms, lacing up her jazz boots. Three blonde preteens in shorts and tank tops were giggling around a locker.

"Tracey," She looked up, as did the other girls. "Can you… show me the new section in the Fosse routine? I want to know what Debbie's got you doing." Tracey paused.

"Sure, Miss Vanessa." She replied, quickly tying her other bootlace. She used the address in front of the younger girls, though she had dropped the title years ago. The giggling trio lowered their voices to a whisper as Tracey followed her teacher out of the locker rooms. They moved along a short hallway and into Studio 3. Tracey waited for Vanessa to take up her place at the bar as she centred herself in front of the mirror.

"This part is only short. We've learnt most of the dance but she wants to tweak a few things in my routine." Tracey began to dance, imaginary bowler hat in hand, counting out the beats under her breath. Each step she executed with perfect timing and grace as Vanessa watched. Tracey wasn't nervous. Even if she was less focussed, she wouldn't have been. Vanessa had seen her dance countless times. This was just another rehearsal.

"And that's where we stopped." Tracey's heel hit the floor with a decisive thud, her stepped muted on the sprung floorboards. She looked up at Vanessa calmly, expecting some notes on her technique or suggestions for the rest of the routine.

"Very nice, Trace." Vanessa smiled, leaning back on the bar. Tracey smiled back at her teacher, pleased with the complement. She looked over the tall woman in front of her, admiring the good looks that had not failed her in the 9 years she'd been teaching Tracey. Vanessa was tall, by anyone's standards, but she seemed even taller to Tracey. About 5' 9" with dark auburn hair and a medium sized frame. She wasn't large for a dancer, of course. She just wasn't slender in the straight up and down sense. She had pleasant curves and her movements were more graceful than a snowflake falling to the ground. She always had a ready smile, especially for her protégé. But Tracey was surprised to find a worried look upon her teacher's face.

"Tracey, come here." She obeyed willingly and moved to Vanessa's side, leaning back on the bar, her image in the mirror copying each careful move. "You've picked up a few more classes since school got out?" Tracey nodded mutely, watching her teacher watch her. "You seem to be here every day, doing more than one class. Is that right?" Tracey hesitated and then nodded again.

"I took up Tap and Jazz as well as Classic., Pointe and Modern. Don't worry, I'm not turning into a clickety click." Tracey gave a little smile, a focussed smile. Vanessa looked her over worriedly again.

"Tracey, I think you've got too much on your plate." The teenager flexed her feet unconcerned, one after another.

"It's vacation time. I don't have anything else I'm supposed to do." She began to roll her left ankle in a circle, clockwise, and then back again. Vanessa gave a little sigh, ignoring her student's attempt to downplay the situation.

"That's not exactly what I mean, Tracey. I'll get to that in a minute. I think you're pushing it too hard." She tried to get through to her favourite student who had turned and stood silently stretching her tendons against the mirror, toes up, heel to the floor. "You're here from the first class until hours after the last. If you aren't dancing, you're in the workout room." She watched Tracey carefully, looking for a hint of emotion on her pale face. Nothing. Just concentrated energy. "You must get tired, Trace. You're turning into just skin and bones." Tracey flashed her a look of warning.

"I'm always skin and bones. And I'm not here that long." She felt Vanessa's arm on her own, felt her body push between Tracey and the bar. She looked up into her teacher's face and saw deep concern in her eyes, barely hidden behind the resolve.

"Tracey, I took Junior Classical yesterday morning and I saw you going into the work out room. At lunch, you were in Tap AX and when I left at 5, you were still in Studio 2, going over the Fosse routine. I saw, you didn't leave the building all day." Usually, if Tracey had to be told anything and was being particularly stubborn (it didn't happen often in dance, though Vanessa knew that school was a different matter), her teacher knew that delivery had to be firm and logical. But she also had a decidedly soft spot for Tracey and that was probably why she stopped and smiled, continuing gently, "Your focus is incredible, Trace. You'll be in Julliard in a couple of years, if you want. But this is different." Tracey has stepped back a couple of feet and was looking at the floor.

"I spoke to Michael. I know your mother's sick." Another reason why she preferred the subway, Tracey thought with disgust. The driver didn't give out information about her family to whoever asked. To be fair, Michael knew Vanessa from way back, picking Tracey up from classes, rehearsals, performances. He was probably just worried himself about the state of her family. Still, she shouldn't have let him drive her when it rained on Saturday.

"Tracey…"

"What?" She said abruptly. She looked almost angry, the intensity of her concentration transferred to her irritation. Seeing Vanessa's calm face and patient eyes, Tracey's expression visibly softened. She felt a little ashamed, snapping at her mentor like that. She looked up at her teacher and waited for her to continue.

"You have two more weeks until High School starts. Go home and be with your Mom." She tried for an encouraging smile but the look of regret on Tracey's face touched her heart and she couldn't pretend. "You can dance any time. Be with your family." The sincerity in her voice struck like a bell through Tracey's thoughts. The 14 year old stood motionless for a moment before nodding her head once, understanding the message. Relieved, Vanessa paused for a second before raising her arms to hug her tiny dancer. Why did she feel as if she was slipping away? Tracey stepped gratefully into the embrace and hugged her teacher back. After a quiet moment, she stepped back, smiling.

"I'm going now. But I'll be here on Monday for Classical. Same as always." Tracey gave Vanessa a little wink and jogged to the Studio door. There she stopped and turned. "Thanks, Vanessa." She said with a truth that made the older dancer want to hug her again. She waved as Tracey left, her jazz boots tapping, fading down the corridor. The redhead turned and looked in the mirror. She sighed, rubbing her face with both hands. She already missed her bright, talented student. It was a feeling she was used to but now seemed unsettlingly strong. Shaking it off, she smiled into her reflection. She'd have to wait until Monday.

But Monday came and went, and Tracey didn't appear at class. She wasn't at her Pointe class later in the day or her Modern group on Tuesday morning, according to Peter Laing, their teacher. Vanessa became worried. On Thursday, over a week after she'd spoken to Tracey, Vanessa called the Kibre house. After twelve rings, Michael answered the phone. Vanessa, very conscious of the family's troubles, greeted the driver in a friendly way and told him that she was just wondering why Tracey hadn't come to dance that week, if she was ok.

With a tired sigh, Michael informed her that Tracey hadn't left the house for days and was spending most every waking minute with her mother and father or in her room. He had asked her himself only two days ago if she would like him to take her to the dance school but she had merely stated quietly "Not now." before returning to her mother's side. Vanessa was taken aback by this but didn't show it, telling Michael that there was always a space in class for Tracey when she decided to come back. He thanked her dejectedly and they said their goodbyes before hanging up.

Three months later, Tracey was sitting at home, on a couch in the library. She was looking at another bunch of lilies on the mantle. There were flowers all over the house, so many of them were lilies. Her Mom would've liked them. Since she came home from dance that day, she'd spent all the time that she could with her mother. It was cancer, of some sort. She didn't want to know the details and no one told her. Whatever it was, it was taking away her parents. Not along was her mother becoming more distant and sickly, but her father drunk himself to sleep every night. He did have the decency to remain sober during the daytime. As the weeks went on, he spent more time with his wife by day and Tracey was pushed out of the picture. When this happened, she went to her room and read. Or stared out of the window in the adjoining lounge, watching the people on the street. She filled out a little from lack of exercise but she didn't eat much, either. She was never very hungry.

Tracey had absolutely no interest in school. No one working in the house mentioned it to her and her father was too busy locked away with her mother, self-medicating at night, to care. After her mother had died, he lost all restraint. One day a week, if she was lucky, he'd go into work and secure their finances. The rest of the time, he'd be in his study. Drunk. Sometimes she found him in her mother's sick room, clutching the floral blanket like a lifeline. At night, she could hear him raging, throwing bottles, plates, anything to drown out the silence of the house, the absence of his wife. What was worse though, in every way, was the quiet. In the dead calm of midnight, she could hear him crying. For his wife and for his daughter. for the life that he was living. That's what was the worst thing, Tracey decided. She'd cover her ears and let her own tears soak her pillow.

And so she sat, on the couch, looking at the lilies when in strode her father. She was a more than a little shocked to see him standing so tall and straight, dark hair shiny and clean. Only his eyes betrayed his activities of the last few months, as they were bloodshot and red.

"Tracey, come over here and talk to your father." With an extremely distrustful look but a nonchalance borne out of habit, Tracey stood up and walked over to the library table, taking a seat opposite her father. She watched as he pulled out his dark sunglasses from his jacket pocket. Tracey quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Lenses inside, Dad?" He gave her a look which was, ironically, severed by the sunglasses in question and she coughed, knowing it wasn't that amusing but not knowing what else to do. David Kibre sighed and reached into his jacket again, pulling out a folded letter. As he opened it, Tracey caught sight of the crest printed darkly on the paper.

"Tracey, you need to go back to school. I've… I've been avoiding reality. You've missed nearly the whole first semester of High School. Now…" He paused, passing the letter to his daughter who took it and scanned the first paragraph. "Jude's would be happy to take you in January once you've done a few aptitude tests, which I have in the office. Richard is doing me a big favour here. It's a very competitive prep school. No one else would be allowed in like this." Tracey put the letter down and leaned back in her chair, looking across at her father. He sat still for a moment before clasping his hands and leaning forward.

"So, what d'you think?" The question sounded casual and it was, in theory. But Tracey's father knew that his daughter was not one to take something she didn't agree with lying down. If she didn't want to go to that school, she would not go. Even if he insisted on it. So he watched her face for some sign of an inclination one way or the other; if she was vastly opposed to the idea or merely apathetic towards any suggestion of normal life. The reaction he received was quite different to both options he'd placed before himself.

"Alright. Saint Jude's it is." Tracey replied, her voice belying a cheery, accepting attitude. Her father was nothing short of dumbfounded but tried not to show it. He watched her for another moment, waiting for the change of heart or the sarcastic comment but nothing came. Relieved, he started to speak as enthusiastically as he could.

"Good. Good. I'm glad, Tracey. It's one of the best prep schools in the country. Stellar sports reputation, too. You'll board, of course. It's too far away for commuting. But you'll be set up with a good room, an allowance and everything. They've got an excellent dance school as well. I'm sure Richard could get you an audition for a Sophomore Scholarship..." He trailed off, smiling tightly in what was meant to be an encouraging manner. Tracey smiled back, her grace equally unnatural.

"Yeah, that sounds good, Dad. Thanks." Pleased with himself and the situation, Tracey's father rose and walked around the table to kiss his daughter on the forehead, stroking her dark curls briefly with his large hand. He smiled again at Tracey, a little more real, before turning and leaving the library.

She sat there for a very long time. She didn't move or say anything. Tracey just sat and breathed. After what felt like only moments to her but was in reality nearly an hour, the dark haired teenager stood and left the room with it's book lined walls. She climbed up a flight of stairs and walked down the hall to her room. She flung the door open and strode across to her desk. Wrenching the second draw open, she searched through the contents and pulled out a large pair of silver scissors. She turned to her bed and the wall behind it.

Since that first class with Miss Vanessa, Tracey had fallen deeper and deeper in love with dance. Ballet, in particular. And one reason for that, besides Tracey's natural talent and delight in such a beautiful, intricate physical activity, was her mother's support. She had adored the idea of having a little ballerina, all in pink, to show off to her friends and take shopping with. Though Tracey only ever hoped and never knew, deep inside, her mother most loved the thought of having that little ballerina all to herself, to hug and hold and love with all her heart.

One thing that her mother had done, since Tracey had got her first pair of ballet slippers a week before she started classes as a smiling 5 year old, was bring out a bottle of gaudy gold glitter glue every time Tracey got new dance shoes and write a neat T on the back of each slipper. And when an old pair was no longer usable, she'd bring out a small hammer and some nails and tap on into Tracey's wall herself. On each nail hung a pair of ballet slippers. Above her bed hung her very first pair of pink satin slippers on the left, her first pair of Pointe shoes on the right and, in the middle, a pair of red slippers, hand embroidered and covered in sequins. These were given to her by her father when she'd performed in her first recital.

Now, Tracey stood at the foot of her bed, holding the silver scissors. She was tense all over and her arm shook slightly as she stared at the wall, at her shoes. A single tear slid down her cheek. She sobbed angrily and sidestepped her bed, rushing at the wall. Through her tears, she moved methodically from one end of the room to the other, cutting the ribbons that hung her shoes from their silver nails. Each pair dropped down and hit soft carpet with a dull thump. Tracey ran around the bed and disposed of all the slippers on the other side. Finally, she jumped onto her bed and stood, staring at the last three pairs. The tears blurred her vision and she wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist, the heavy silver scissors dragging her hand down. Slowly, carefully, she cut each pair of ribbons. The shoes dropped down onto her pillows without a sound.

Tracey stood back and surveyed the strangely empty wall. The scissors dropped from her hand and bounced off the bed, onto the floor. The last nail to her right, near the corner, still had a pink bow balancing delicately on top of it. All the others had fallen with the shoes. Except right in front of her; the red bow, like a limp satin flower, hung gently from the silver nail. Viciously, Tracey grabbed it, scraping her hand badly on the protruding nail, and threw the ribbon from her. It only travelled a few feet past the end of the bed before falling to the floor. Tracey dropped, sobbing, on her bed, legs crumpled beneath her. She felt the shoes next to her and she grabbed them. The red slippers. She threw them violently across the room and they hit the wall with a dual thump.

Tracey collapsed on her pillows, ringlets flung across her eyes, obscuring her tear stained cheeks. She cried and cried until there was nothing left in her, until the sobs wracking her thin body stopped, until the sound ceased to pass her lips. She then fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, her tears drying in her curls and on her eyelashes. Had anyone looked in on her, they would have found an exhausted young girl, sleeping soundly, clasping a small, pink ballet slipper in one hand.

When she awoke, Tracey found that the sun was setting, casting a golden light across her room through the large windows. She raised her head a little and looked about the room. Catching the glimmer of red from across the room, she dropped back onto the pillow and groaned lightly. Taking a deep breath in, she pushed herself up again and got out of bed. She fell to her knees and pulled out a large white box from underneath her mattress. She removed the lid and began to drop shoes inside. They made the tissue paper rustle with each addition. Tracey got up and collected the slippers from one side of the room and then the other, dropping them all in together. She pulled open her cupboard doors and piled all her current shoes into her arms, crossing to the box and unloading her burden. She then retrieved the ones buried amongst her pillows and finally, the red ballet slippers from next to the door.

Her heart gave a sharp protest, a physical pang of pain in her chest, as she pulled the lid over her most prized possessions in the whole world. In one violent shove, they were underneath her bed and all evidence that Tracey Kibre had grown up in a dance studio was erased. Yet another connection to her mother severed, like the satin ribbons of her precious memories, one of the most important links Tracey ever had to her mother.

Later that day, the housekeeper brought the tests Tracey was meant to take along with Michael to watch her. He smiled cheerily and tried to boost Tracey's spirits, as he was wont to do, but found her strangely calm and resolute. Not in the usual way, the stubborn, driven Tracey Kibre, her father's daughter, way. To Michael, it seemed, she'd just lost her grief. Like it has been severed from her.

She completed the tests and her father sent them to Saint Jude's the next day. A week later, she had been accepted with great enthusiasm from the Administration Board and offered a place in Freshman Semester Two. Her father showed Tracey the letter politely enquiring whether or not she would like an audition for Saint Jude's 'prestigious' dance school. She looked at the page, somewhat sadly (though the expression was fleeting; her father didn't have a chance to pick it up) and suggested maybe once she'd settled in, she would audition. He agreed and went to his study to accept the offer of a place at the boarding school.

Christmas passed without sentiment, though the house was decorated from top to bottom, and Tracey's birthday was hardly acknowledged. Michael tried, as did the housekeeper, but Tracey insisted that she "had to study to catch up" to her classmates and didn't want any celebration. Having turned 15 and rung in the New Year with nothing more than a nod and a smile, Tracey packed her bags for school.

Three days into the New Year, Tracey was driven to the airport with a suitcase and a carry bag. Her father told her to buy everything she needed from the campus store and it would be charged to his account. He'd kissed her goodbye and she held her breath, not wanting to know what he'd been drinking. As she'd passed the gates, she turned and gave the obligatory wave to her father and Michael.

"Don't forget your tap shoes!" The driver called out to her and she smiled at the old joke. The smile didn't go any further than her lips, though. What no one in the house had noticed was that she had taken none of her dance gear. They'd all been too busy focussing on her father's mood swings and drinking. Her feet had healed from the thrashing she'd given them over the break and her leotards, tights and legwarmers were folded neatly in her drawer at home. Her shoes remained in the box under her bed. And as soon as she sat down in her seat on the small plane, she finalised the vow that had been formulating itself in her mind. Her thoughts had never been quite clear enough to piece together and examine the concept that had taken up residence inside her soul. As she thought the thought, took the plunge, she felt as if her heart was slowly ripping apart, one more time. The ballerina inside her lay still and silent, legs broken.

Tracey would never dance again.

Almost three years later, a slightly taller, slightly thinner Tracey Kibre stepped out of a cab which pulled up just outside the steps leading to the reception hall of the main building. Tossing her curls back freely, her eyes scaled the tall building, struck once again by the majesty of the Gothic Architecture. She smirked at her affection for the grandeur of her school. Pulling herself from derisive images of Ms Tracey Kibre swooning in front of a sculpture by some adored artist in a New York gallery, the teenager turned and pulled her bag from the back seat of the cab. She slammed the door and walked around to the driver's window and handed him a twenty.

"Keep the change and thanks for tackling the driveway." She smiled at the older man's thank you and turned back to the building. She felt the cab pull away behind her, crunching on the gravel, and took a deep breath in before climbing the stairs. As she passed under the high doorway, she remembered the school motto carved into the stone. Tempus Omnia Monstrat - Time reveals all things. Certainly an interesting precept for an educational institution, she thought, but a sound one. Tracey had definitely learnt a few things over her years at Saint Jude's.

She passed the main reception area and administration office and turned right, opting for the student's reception. The principal social part of the school was this building and thus was generally referred to as the Main Hall. It was set out on a sort of cruciform plan, the large entrance being at the end of the Southern transept, one of the shorter arms of the cross. The Northern arm housed the dining hall which was also used for study and exam purposes once the long wooden tables were dismantled.

The Eastern Wing was filled with admin offices, staffrooms and teacher's quarters for the number that lived on campus and not in student accommodation. The West Wing was also known as the Kibre Wing. This Tracey had found particularly pertinent to her as all teachers, and students, upon learning her name would comment and quiz her until she wished to be named something else entirely. Now in her senior year, all her own form knew of her relationship to David Kibre and the younger years were too wrapped up in their own world of intrigue, or too intimidated, to ask.

Tracey stepped up to the reception desk and stuck her head into the office, leaning over the counter. Unlike the main reception desk, this work space was cluttered with papers, files, pieces of uniforms half mended, text books and diaries. The student's reception was manned, so to speak, by Mrs Elizabeth Hubbard. Who could be heard cursing in the back room.

"Hello? Anybody home?" Tracey called over the counter, leaning forward heavily on the varnished wooden surface, arms crossed beneath her. Another round of cursing rang out and she grinned. The author of the bad language appeared before her, looking harangued, but broke out into a great smile upon seeing Tracey.

"Tracey, my girl! Finally, some sanity back in this place!" The old woman crowded up against the counter and pulled Tracey into a big hug.

"It's good to see you, Liz." Tracey smiled, hugging the Matron back. The motherly woman made a few more clucking noises before pulling back and surveying her charge.

"You're a disrespectful girl, Miss Kibre. And you've lost more weight!" She tut tutted, crossing her arms before her. Tracey rolled her eyes and leant on one elbow.

"Well, since we were being so informal, Mrs Hubbard… And I have not!" She grinned. "I'm just a master of deception." The Matron tutted again in her doom filled way and put her hands on her hips. Mrs Hubbard was about 55 or maybe even 60. Her hair was grey and always neatly pulled into a bun. She always looked harassed and put the fear of God into the younger students but was generally a kind woman who looked out for all her charges. Whether they feared her or loved her, all students had a high level of respect for Mrs Hubbard. This did involve the use of an affectionate nickname, "Old Mother Hubbard" from the nursery rhyme. She pretended she didn't know but Tracey had caught her more than once smiling at an unaware freshman talking about her not knowing that she was standing close by. The woman had looked after Tracey from the day she arrived and she had become something of a favourite, though Mrs Hubbard would steadfastly deny it. Tracey had a way of being liked by adults.

"Don't you argue with me, Miss Kibre. I know when you've lost weight. Not that you have any to lose. Didn't they feed you at that conference thing?" The Matron began sorting some of the piles of paper partially hidden by the desk Tracey was leaning on. The teenager hoisted her bag on her shoulder and nodded.

"They did feed me but it wasn't as good as Jude's food." She paused with a confused smile on her face. "You okay down there?" Mrs Hubbard looked up momentarily and then went back to her sorting.

"Fine, dear. I'm looking for Ella King's father's credit card. He's here to watch the Polo match with Newbury and I've got to get it back to him with this receipt. Oh Lord!" She held up a thin run of paper and a pile of folders fell to the floor. Tracey held back a giggle, covering her mouth.

"Christ, can I help you?" She asked.

"No, no. I'll sort this lot out later. I suppose you want your key?" She Matron picked up a few scattered files from the floor and dropped them in a pile on the desk with finality. As Tracey nodded, she turned and crossed to the opposite wall where there was a huge honeycomb of pigeon holes. In each box were two hooks and a space for mail. She went directly to a space to the right and in the middle with the number 7 marked in gold. Both keys were on their hooks and Mrs Hubbard retrieved the one with a small crescent moon attached. She turned and bustled over to the office door, joining Tracey in the corridor.

"There you are. Do you remember where your room is, dear?" She said with a hint of sarcasm. Tracey gave her a wry smile, taking the key.

"I'm not sure, that two weeks away… but I think I'll manage." The teenager winked at Mrs Hubbard, turned and proceeded down the hallway. As the light from the front door glinted off her shiny dark curls and she plunged into the gloom of the Western part of the building, the Matron sighed, shaking her head with a small smile and went back into her office to tackle her filing system.

Tracey slipped the key into the chrome lock on her door and twisted the knob, pushing the heavy timber inwards with a small creak. The room was lit through the large windows set into the far wall and Tracey left the lights off. Yanking her bag behind her, she shut the door and stepped gratefully across the quiet room, sinking into her double bed. With a sigh, she stretched all her limbs out on the pale blue comforter and relaxed her muscles.

Since she'd started at Saint Jude's, Tracey had changed immeasurably. She'd only grown an inch, at best, but was no longer the straight up and down stick she had been as a child or even when she finished Middle School. Her curves had developed into a really remarkable shape. At 17, Tracey had blossomed into an even more beautiful creature than she had been in her early teenage years. Her skin was still pale like pure white snow and her hair dark, almost black, like coffee but her shape had changed. Being a physical child, Tracey had always had muscles but since she'd started High School, she'd begun running every morning. At first, it was because the Cross Country coach had spotted her build and invited her to join the team. Then it was because she had to train, becoming the school's star runner. And now, in her Senior year, it was purely out of habit that she got up each morning to jog.

The exercise had toned her body, giving her strong legs that even the girls commented on. The boys, seeing her in summer uniform of a short skirt and blouse, would give her more than a few wolf whistles as she walked to class each morning. She didn't mind the attention but had never really been interested. She focussed on her classes, on developing her mind. Mainly as a protective measure – developed minds and bodies had more to push through to see what's underneath.

Tracey shifted, her curls sifting sideways, pulled by gravity off the edge of the mattress. Her hair had grown longer and Tracey couldn't be bothered to have it cut. The ringlets, coloured dark chocolate, reached to her shoulder blades. Her eyes were still the same deep brown, her smile still bright and slightly crooked. Though she didn't know it, Tracey was a beautiful young woman and caught the attention of more than a few teenage boys.

With a deep, satisfied sigh, the beauty in question sat up and studied her room. It looked neater than when she had left it for Thanksgiving. Her bed was next to the left window which had a small ledge that Tracey liked to get up on to look out onto the grounds. When she got up early to run, her room was usually dark, with its windows facing the west but she got a beautiful view of the sunset on the lake at dusk and of the sloping lawns. The other tall window had a cushioned seat as well but was at the opposite end of the room, leaving about a four or five feet of wall between the set. Tracey had a dresser up against that bit of wall and it remained quite bare, with only a few perfume bottles and a box of unopened sea shell chocolates she had got as a present from her friend Bella.

Opposite Tracey's bed were her desk and bookshelves which were full to bursting of textbooks, library books and novels she brought from home. To the right of that, next to the door, was her bathroom.

All the rooms in the Kibre Wing were large and most had their own bathroom or doubles shared. The whole wing was for Seniors and the living quarters took up about half of it's collective space. The library, only a floor up from Tracey's room, was one of the largest collections of books in the United States and it's older records extended underground. Opposite the library, still on the third floor, was a Conference Room or, as the students tended to call it, the Meet Hall. It was where the Juniors and Seniors had functions and the school would hold concerts or have meetings with parents. Tracey knew it best for her debating and practice for Mock Trials.

The brunette looked over at her bedside table to check the time. Three on a Wednesday afternoon. The younger grades would still be in class or getting ready for sporting matches. The Juniors and Seniors would be doing the same or going to Study Hall or the library. Tracey had the rest of the day off, she knew, but was certainly in the mood for some normal female company. Bella would be hiding in the reference section of the library, one of the back aisles, doing her Advanced Maths homework quickly so she could steal out for a cigarette.

Tracey pulled herself up off the bed and crossed to her book bag that had been dumped unceremoniously next to her desk before her departure. Pulling out a few folders, she ascertained that her old pack of Marlboro Reds was still there, half full and begging to be seen to. Grabbing a few Legal Studies books from her desk and shoving them in, she grabbed the bag and left her room, praying Bella had a light.

"Hey Bugsy, how was the G8 Summit?" Bella's voiced echoed a little in the back aisles of the library and Tracey grinned, walking over to where her friend was sitting with a maths book on her lap, back to the wall. Her straight black hair fell all over her shoulders and flicked at the graph paper she was marking. Blue eyes flashed with amusement as Tracey dropped down beside her and leaned back into the wall.

"It wasn't a G8 Summit, Bella. It was the Student's Legal Conference. We talked about the right to free education, not world hunger." Her friend rolled her eyes and plotted another point on her graph.

"Same difference, Trace. It's all world domination…" Tracey bumped her on the shoulder and Bella cried out indignantly. "Hey, I'm working here!"

"Fine, fine. I've still got questions to answer for Anderlee. You'd think after a week of legal jargon she'd give me a break but I _have _to do this. For the greater good." Tracey pulled a face as she prised her text books and note pad from her bag. Pulling a pen from behind Bella's ear, she uncapped it and read the question over. After a few minutes of disjointed equations and graphing, and constant writing from Tracey, Bella turned to her friend, prodding her with the end of her pen.

"So how was your Thanksgiving?"

"Good." Tracey didn't look up as she replied and continued to write. Bella sighed and grabbed the pen from Tracey's hand. "Hey!"

"Mine. And anyway, you haven't seen me for two weeks. Anderlee's crap can wait. You're probably finished already." Tracey made a grab for the pen.

"That's not the point." She made an irritated noise, huffing at Bella's resistance. Finally she gave up, crossing her arms at her thwarted attempt to perfect her legalese. Bella relaxed a little and looked down at her half finished graph.

"I really can't be bothered." She snapped the book shut with the exercise inside and tossed it into her bag along with the pen Tracey had been using and her pencil. Se turned to her friend and exhaled heavily.

"I need a smoke." Tracey smiled and pushed her things into her own book bag.

"Just what I was hoping you'd say."

"Let's go." Bella pulled Tracey up and they headed down the aisle arm in arm, the raven haired girl biting at Tracey's cheeks and receiving a slap in the process.

"Wierdo."

"Bitch."

"Maths nerd."

"Judge." Tracey looked horrified. Bella grinned.

"You take that back!"

The two girls lounged against the willow tree by the lake. They were facing away from the main building, across the lawn and down to the old pine plantation that constituted the school forest. Tracey exhaled, smoke curling up into the leaves hanging above their heads.

"Thank Christ you had your lighter. I left mine at home." Bella gave a throaty laugh and leaned her head further back against the trunk, blowing smoke into a cloud above her head that dissipated in a light breeze.

"Silly girl." Tracey smiled, tapping the ash from her cigarette. "So, how was your Thanksgiving?"

"I told you, good." Tracey spotted a freshman in sweats jog his way around from out of their sight back to the start of the forest running path. Both she and Bella knew it well. They'd met while on the Cross Country team and Bella was a close second to Tracey's first in all the races.

"Come on, tell me what you did! I had to put up with my little brother for a week and then I come back to school with you off making laws and citing cases. My mind is filled with a whole lotta nothing." Tracey smiled again at her friend's whining tone.

"Seriously. I went back home, ate some Turkey and took a jog with the neighbour's dog." Bella gave her a disbelieving look and Tracey went on. "I did nothing for a week. Some assignments. It's not like we had much to do, it's just me and my Dad." She stopped and looked at the ground. Bella knew not to press it any further. Tracey had a complicated relationship with her father. Since her mother died and maybe before then. But that's all she knew.

"When's debating starting up again?" Bella asked as Tracey took another drag on her cigarette. Tracey laughed, shaking her head.

"Damn, I keep forgetting that I have to deal with that." Bella grinned.

"Mock Trials too!" Tracey gave her a disgusted look and hit her with the back of her hand.

"Don't remind me. I didn't want to captain any of this." Bella rolled her eyes and took another puff before crossing her arms.

"Who else were they going to choose? Tracey, you do Legal, English and Philosophy not to mention the fact that you've been the Senior Team's third speaker for two years. You're a debating prodigy! And don't get me started on Mock Trial…" Tracey glanced over at Bella who was wearing a decidedly black look and burst out laughing.

"Thanks. If I ever need my ego boosted, I know where to come." Bella flipped her black hair over one shoulder and stuck her tongue out.

"You know you're good, you just like people saying it." Tracey quelled her laughter a little, still chuckling at Bella's comments.

"True… Hey, anything happen while I was away?" Tracey stubbed out her cigarette in an old glass ashtray they kept at the willow. Bella did the same before slipping it into a hollow under a root. They'd found the hiding spot as sophomores and had been using it ever since. Bella got Tracey into smoking and it was something that they almost always did together, usually at the willow. Opposite side to the main building, of course.

"Nothing, really. Mother Hubbard went down to talk to Ms Elk in the boarding house and she caught Bobby Davis in some freshman's room. A little redhead, cute but dumb. He's been benched for basketball. And Malyon's so about to ask for an essay on narcotics and existentialism. He hasn't realised that we _know_ his existence depends on drugs, we don't need to hand him ten pages on it." Tracey groaned at the mention of work and covered her face with her hands.

"Are all Philosophy teachers on crack?" Her words came out muffled through her hands and she dropped them to her thighs, looking up to the patch of sky she could see between the willow branches as if looking for some kind of salvation.

"Probably. Modern Louis Carrolls, the lot of them." Bella stepped over and looked where Tracey was looking. Finding nothing of consequence, she grabbed her friend's hand, pulling her from the tree. "Come on, let's get your laundry. Back in uniform tomorrow!"

Tracey groaned, allowing herself to be pulled along around the lake's edge and up the grassy slope towards the school.

Tracey yawned as she closed the door behind her, flicking the lights on. Her travel bag still lay just inside the door, untouched since she'd arrived. Got to get those clothes downstairs, Tracey thought, stretching her arms out in front of her, cracking her knuckles. She shook her head heavily and walked over to the bed where her clean laundry was piled. She should have put it away when she'd dropped it off before dinner with Bella but she'd been eager to get into the Dining Hall again. It was a good feeling to eat dinner with so many people. Too tired to be bothered hanging up two uniforms, one of which she was going to wear in the morning anyway, Tracey compromised and laid one set up a pile on her dresser, the other on her desk. There was yet another one hanging in her closet anyway so she wasn't too worried about the state of any one set.

Having moved the laundry, Tracey went back to her bed and pulled out the pyjamas she'd left under her pillow. Officially stuck in the state of apathy that hits at around 15, Tracey couldn't be bothered to actually buy and wear a matching set of bed clothes. She opted for an old rugby jersey that Jeremy Taylor had given her a while back for winter, nothing for summer and a tshirt for the in-between weather. Right now, she was using a white I love NY top with a red heart in place of 'love'. She appreciated the cheesiness.

Quickly and methodically, Tracey pulled off her sweater and jeans, unclasping her bra and dropping it on the pile. She slipped the tshirt over her head and pushed the pile of clothes towards the end of her bed with one foot. Sighing a little, she crossed to her bathroom door and pulled it open, flicking on the light.

"Ow." Tracey nearly stated as the brighter lights caught her eyes. Without much ceremony, she turned on the cold water tap and splashed her face. She hadn't worn any make up but Tracey was nothing if not thorough. She reached for a toothbrush and cleaned her teeth slowly with her eyes closed. Rinsing her mouth out, she opened her eyes just a crack to look for the light switch before clicking it off and returning to her somewhat dimmer bedroom.

Her hand slid along the wall to flick off the rest of the lights and she found her way across the room to her bed, sinking gratefully down into the soft mattress. Tracey pulled her legs up and slid them underneath the covers, turning on her side to look out the window at the stars. She fell asleep quickly, an image of a rose dancing before her eyes as she drifted away.

"Fuck." Tracey yawned, cracking her neck as she stood behind Bella in the breakfast line. Her friend turned to give her a playful smile and grabbed her tray. Tracey didn't protest; Bella always got her breakfast. When she'd woken up in time, that is.

"Happy to be back at school?" Bella teased, loading scrambled eggs onto both plates. Tracey narrowed her eyes and a half smile crossed her face.

"Shut up." Bella laughed, adding a couple of sausages and some tomatoes to their plates. "Hey, watch it! I don't want to throw up in English." Bella tossed her head dismissively, moving on to the pile of toast, taking a few pieces for them both.

"Quieten down, Slim. You need to eat some grease before you show me up any more." Tracey rolled her eyes and followed Bella to the drinks table, pouring them both a glass of orange juice. She placed one on each tray and took hers, angling her head to one of the half empty Senior tables.

"You've got to be kidding me, Bella. You're five pounds heavier than me and two inches taller. I'd prefer the height, myself." They sat down at the less crowded end of the table, opposite each other, and Tracey dropped her book bag next to her seat. Bella humphed, picking up her knife and fork, attacking a tomato.

"It's seven pounds and one inch taller, Trace. Get it right." The short brunette shook her head, smiling a little, and reached for the pepper grinder. Bella knew she lived up to her name. She was stunning. Average height, maybe, but slim and tanned with deep blue eyes. Her hair was naturally blonde, the colour of the beach and sunshine, but Bella had claimed to be sick of the stereotype she was "plagued by" and dyed her hair completely black the spring break of their freshman year. For a couple of months, the teacher's were on her case to dye it back but she refused so steadfastly that they gave up. That and the fact that Mrs Hubbard was on her side. She thought Bella was amusing in a "wicked way". It was lucky that Bella suited dark hair.

And so she sat there across from Tracey with her fit body from running (she was now the star of the Cross Country team since Tracey quit to focus on work), her hair black as coal, her eyes blue as the ocean, her fine features and perfect smile from middle school with braces, accusing Tracey of making her look fat and unattractive. Tracey had learnt to ignore her remarks very early on in their friendship.

"So, what else you got today?" Bella asked through a mouthful of toast.

"Uh… English, French, Philosophy… then I break before prep. I have to organise the debate teams meeting then. Christ… I can't do all this." Tracey put her fork down and dropped her head into her hands. Bella prodded her arm with her fork.

"Yes, you can. If anyone can handle Debating, Mock Trial and the nerdy subjects, it's you." Tracey looked up with a wry smile.

"Thanks. Maths, Physics and Chemistry are all pretty nerdy too, you know." Bella may have been a beauty queen but she had the smarts to compete with Tracey any day. Which was why it was fortunate that they only had two subjects together – Philosophy and Co-curricular Music. And seeing as they were the perfect duet on piano and vocals in Music, they managed to get along with each other just fine.

"I know. Hey, that means I'll only see you for one class before prep! I have German after Philosophy. Fuck, if that Frau starts in on irregular verbs again…" Bella began to get a dark look on her face. Tracey, quite sensitive to her friends' moods, lifted her hands and made calming motions.

"Whoa, cool it. I'll sit with you in prep, ok? Then we can convene at the lake, have dinner, all that jazz. Happy?" Bella paused, considering.

"Yeah, alright then." She looked up at the clock above the main door. "Shit, hurry up. We have exactly 8 minutes before class starts."

"Damn. Why'd you have to load my plate up again?" Bella grinned at Tracey trying to eat her eggs quickly.

"Sorry, Slim." She ducked a piece of tomato, eyeing Tracey's look of utter doom and started happily on her second sausage. Tracey paused for a second, looking over the food on her plate and stood, grabbing her toast. Bella looked up from her breakfast, a confused look on her face. "Ah… Are we done?" Tracey smiled ruefully, shouldering her book bag.

"I'm more concerned with getting to English on time than having a stomach ache in French. Or, in your case, Chem." Bella waved her away with a fork full of sausage.

"Go, go. I'm used to having my attempts to fatten you up thwarted." Tracey grinned apologetically and turned on her heel, winding her way around tables and remaining students to get to the door. She ripped the toast in half with a bite and a swift jerk of her head, savouring the feel of food in her stomach. Breakfast was one of her only reasons to get up early in the morning. Especially after a run in the dark and a cool shower.

Moving under the archway and chewing on her toast, Tracey felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see a junior she knew from English tutoring, a little chestnut haired boy with wire rimmed glasses and freckles. He was pushing to stand even with her and she stopped with a smile, allowing him to slip in beside her.

"Hey Tim, late for class?" He was only a year younger than her and Tracey was petite but this guy was a shortass. He was a whole inch and a half shorter than her. She knew some of the guys in his grade gave him stick for it but he didn't seem to mind.

"Yeah, I guess I will be. Hey Tracey, you're Captain of Debating this year, aren't you?" Tracey rolled her eyes good naturedly and nodded. His face split into a wide grin.

"Oh cool. I was wondering if I could join one of the Junior teams. Maybe not representative but I could maybe do some research and prac. debates, maybe…" He trailed off, stumbling over his words and giving Tracey a sheepish look. She smiled down at him and tried to sound enthusiastic, not patronising.

"Of course, Tim. That'd be great. We're always looking for new members." Tracey had to fight her way to turn right along the corridor against the press of already hurried students. A bell rang, indicating five minutes till first class. She turned back to Tim. "I'll post meeting times on the Noticeboard soon, ok? I gotta go, Tim." He nodded excitedly before being swept away in the crowd. Tracey was so busy smiling to herself at the encounter that she didn't realise how suddenly the throng subsided, pushing through people to empty air and bumping into another girl just leaving the bathrooms.

"Crap. Sorry." She looked up into the face a girl she had never met. She would've remembered if she had seen that face before. She had a couple of inches on Tracey, easily, and had hair as blonde as sunshine. Like Bella's had been. The girl smiled at her, blue eyes flashing behind rectangular frames, as she lifted her hands apologetically.

"My bad, I didn't see you there." Tracey smiled back, disarmed by the sweet, sincere tone to the girl's voice. She sidestepped the blonde and moved only a few feet down the corridor when she heard the voice ring out again over the dying sound of the students behind them "Aren't you Tracey Kibre?"

"Uh…" Tracey looked about quickly as if searching for a sign pointing her way with name, rank and serial number. "Yeah, that's me." She smoothed her skirt unconsciously, ever the perfectionist. And anyone would agree that perfection was what she came close to in that uniform, a thought echoed through the blonde's mind. The royal blue skirt with three pleats at the front came to midway up her thighs and displayed her gorgeous legs perfectly to where they disappeared into white socks and black leather school shoes. She wore a darker sweater, her sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and a white shirt underneath with the top three buttons undone. Her hair was nearly dry, still retaining a dark, muted quality from her shower. Her rich chocolate eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"Why?" She looked to the blonde with her head cocked sideways, questioning. She was interested how such a good looking, never before seen at Saint Jude's blonde knew her name. The girl was dressed much the same way as she was but wore a sleeveless blue vest in place of Tracey's sweater. She had her shirt sleeves rolled up, exposing further tanned limbs. She glowed, giving another smile and a wink to Tracey across the space between them.

"No reason." She turned and disappeared into a small group of sophomores exiting the main hall to get to their classes. Tracey stood still for a moment, puzzled by the brief interaction, before realising she had English in the library. She turned to walk quickly down the corridor, dismissing the meeting from her thoughts. She had Webb's penchant for essays on the underlying themes of Macbeth to deal with for the next hour. Focus was not only advised but irritatingly necessary.

"Damn, Tracey! Have you actually read this assignment sheet?" Bella came bouncing into her friend's room without knocking. Tracey was seated at her desk, shoes kicked off at the door, working. A list of names and details of students on various debate teams were to one side, a table of school activities in front of her. She made a mark next to Tuesday afternoon before twisting in her seat to watch Bella flop dramatically onto her bed.

"Yes, I have and I wish you weren't right about homework like that. Six thousand words plus a Bibliography for Malyon… Typed, that'd be about ten pages of writing. More handwritten." Bella made a gagging noise and pulled a face.

"I know. I disgust me." Tracey turned back to the desk, head bent over her work.

"No, you didn't. I've been here the whole time and you've been talking about Philosophy papers. I've talked about you in the past…" A pillow hit the back of Tracey's head. She grinned and turned around, pulling the chair up as she spoke. "Oh, so it's a fight you want…" Bella giggled as Tracey pounced on her and the bed rocked against the wall. They wrestled for a moment before Tracey flipped Bella off of her and climbed on top, sitting proudly on her friend's stomach.

"Animal." Bella gasped. Tracey gave a little bow, leaning on Bella's diaphragm, eliciting another expulsion of air along with a few curses.

"Thank you, my dear." She glanced over at the clock and rolled off the bed, just landing on her feet. "Come on, we have prep." Bella groaned good naturedly and pushed herself up.

"Can't we go destroy our lungs?" She batted her eyelashes at Tracey with an innocent look. Tracey flung a jumper she'd retrieved from her closet at Bella, smiling lightly.

"That's yours. Before dinner, ok? Grab your books, I'll meet you in the hallway." Bella pulled a face and sighed.

"Right you are, Ma'am." She bounced out of the room again, pulling the door half closed behind her. Tracey shook her head and turned back to her desk, collecting all her notes and loose pieces of paper into a pile and shuffled them into a green folder. She dropped that into her book bag and selected a couple of texts, Shakespeare in English and a French dictionary, adding them to the load as well. Hearing Bella's knock on the outside wall, she shouldered the bag and went to the door to slip on her shoes.

"All set?" Bella asked, leaning against the wall next to Tracey's door. She had a canvas tote bag slung over her shoulder with a picture of Marilyn Monroe printed on the side. Tracey pulled the door shut behind her and smiled grimly.

"Lead on, Macduff."

Tracey was thoroughly irritated by the time they sat down to dinner. She had spent the majority of prep trying to work out a timetable for all the debating teams she was in charge of. When she'd finally got it worked out, she realised she'd scheduled everything so well that she had no time to prepare for Mock Trial which started in January. Granted, it was four weeks away but once she'd set herself a timetable for the new semester, she was loath to change it. Finally coming to some sort of arrangement, Tracey had to rush finish her extended response question for French and hadn't even begun on her translation of Act I, Scene III of Macbeth for Ms Webb.

When the bell had rung signalling the end of prep and half an hour until dinner, Tracey had been more than a little annoyed and desperate for a quiet, mindless cigarette down by the willow with Bella. She watched her friend pack up all her things into her tote when Mother Hubbard approached the air. More specifically, Bella.

"Isabelle dear, could you please help Peter over there supervise the detained students while they set up for dinner? Ramani's sick in bed and you're a good girl, you can handle them." Bella gave Tracey a pained look. Tracey growled mentally before taking a deep breath and nodding her permission to Bella. Her friend turned and walked across the hall to another Senior, Peter Hermann, who was standing in front of a group of giggling sophomores and a couple of Juniors. As she arrived next to him, Tracey watched her bat a blonde sardine sized boy who was whispering to his friend on the shoulder. He shut up and gave her a reproachful look. The group seemed to start listening to Peter's instructions and he shot Bella a grateful smile. Tracey was not so pleased.

"You know, you're timing is awful." She muttered to the Matron standing beside her, looking on at the group. She smiled approvingly and turned to Tracey.

"I think it's perfectly fine. If she hadn't helped poor Peter out, the hall would never be ready in time for dinner. Don't you have something to do that doesn't require Black beauty to hold your hand?" She quirked her eyebrow at Tracey, using one of her various nicknames for Bella reserved just for use with Tracey. She knew they were friends. Tracey rolled her eyes and huffed loudly.

"I don't think the witches need Bella around to aid translation, thank you Liz." She'd turned to leave the hall, marching grumpily along the corridor to the library to fill in her time. After twenty minutes of getting nowhere with her writing, too irritated and bored with work, Tracey packed up and headed back to the hall. Upon seeing the group of students frantically setting up cutlery baskets and carrying the last of the tables in from the edges of the hall, Tracey searched for Bella. Finding her berating the same little blonde boy for some misdemeanour or another, Tracey sighed and edged along the wall to grab Bella's tote. She'd filled in the remaining time before dinner walking up to her room and depositing her bag inside, going next door to Bella's room to drop hers off. When she arrived down at the hall again, she found Bella near the front of the dinner line where she joined her, still out of sorts.

And after waiting an extra ten minutes for the food to be put out and for the line to start moving, that was where Tracey found herself, sitting across from Bella, eyeing her vegetable lasagne.

"God, I know they're trying to include some vegetarian food in the menu but they never quite got this one right." Tracey poked the steaming pile of vegetables and pasta sheets with a fork as Bella bit a piece in half experimentally. The face she pulled confirmed Tracey statement.

"Yep, it's still disgusting." Tracey groaned in frustration and pushed the plate away, instead opting for one of the two bread rolls she'd picked up in anticipation of her meal's taste. Bella looked at her food for a moment, as if considering the validity of her pronunciation, then took another bite. She'd had a few more mouthfuls before she looked up to see the look of distaste Tracey was giving her while picking at her bread roll.

"Oh shut up. It's still food." Tracey rolled her eyes, watching Bella eat the rest of her lasagne. She pulled her roll apart, eating the small chunks of bread slowly. She ignored the extra butter Bella had besides her roll, that she always got, because Tracey never did. Just in case she changed her mind. Also Bella had a habit of putting the surplus on the very last crust of bread she had and eating it all in one mouthful. Tracey found it sickening but fascinating at the same time.

"How was babysitting?" she asked, popping another morsel into her mouth. Bella chewed, giving Tracey a dark look. She swallowed, growling.

"They're little heathens, you know that? I just want to smack them." Tracey smiled sardonically and gestured accusingly at Bella with the rest of her roll.

"You did smack one of them." Blue eyes rolled dismissively.  
"He deserved it, little twerp. I shoulda forked him." Her statement was punctuated with a jab of her eating utensil to an imaginary student. Tracey chuckled, finishing her roll with a last couple of bites.

"I can see why you're a Prefect." Bella stuck her tongue out at Tracey who grinned and mimicked the gesture. Bella put her fork down and started on her roll as Tracey picked up her second.

"I need some fresh air. The smell of that food makes me want to throw up." Bella wrinkled her nose in response and looked down at her empty plate.

"Now that you mention it, I don't know why I'm eating this as well. I'm going to be sick enough tonight from the lasagne." Tracey nodded her agreement and put down the rest of her roll.

"Can we keep our date down by the willow? Because I could really use the stress relief." Tracey's eyes darted to her left and right, smiling with satisfaction that a couple of boys heard what she said. Bella winked across the table, standing up.

"Sure, Hun. Let's go and de-stress." They picked up their plates and scraped them off into the scrap bin before piling them onto the rickety metal trolley. They walked through the tables arm in arm, Bella whispering to her in a suitably seductive manner, Tracey grinning like a Cheshire cat. As they reached the darkened reception, they burst into fits of giggles at their overtly provocative behaviour. Their laughter slowly subsiding, Bella covered her arms and shivered.

"Damn, it's cold in here. Let me run up and get that jumper, would you? And something to help us relax." Bella winked at Tracey who nodded and pushed her off down the corridor.

"My bag is on my bed. Yours is just inside your door." Tracey watched Bella jog down the corridor and turn into the stairwell before walking across the reception area with it's empty desk and stepped out into the cool night air. The low rumble of voices from the hall was still audible from where she stood. Tracey moved back a little to lean up against the archway, half inside, half out. The moonlight slid across one half of her face and the rest was hidden in shadow. She looked out across the gravelled drive to the dark shadows of the trees that ran along the driveway and school walls. About 300 yards away, Tracey caught a glimpse of the school gates rimmed with moonlight. That's when she was disturbed by the sound of voices.

"I am so glad we've got chocolate in our room."

"Yeah, I think a pig out is in order." Tracey turned slightly to see who was speaking. Three girls stood at the entrance to the hall, two with their arms slung around each other, giggling together. The third stood slightly apart with her arms crossed, clucking her tongue at the other two. Tracey recognised her at once, the edges of her glasses frames reflecting in the light from the hall.

"Grace, didn't you bring your diary to supper?" One of the two joined at the hip looked around, as if expecting a book to follow her through the air. When she found none, she sighed dramatically and extracted her arms from her friend, laying her hands upon her hips.

"Damn. I'd better go get it." The third girl nodded encouragingly, rather patronising, Tracey thought.

"Take Celeste with you. I can't handle her." The other girl giggled and both of them ran off back into the hall. The third girl shook her head slightly and turned to face Tracey, looking a little taken aback. Recovering quickly, she crossed the space between them, flashing pearly white teeth in the moonlight.

"Hello, Tracey Kibre." The blonde angled her head politely and stood underneath the arch, a few feet from the older girl. Tracey gave her a sceptical look, complete with a twitch of a smile at her lips, and crossed her arms.

"Hello again. Do I warrant an introduction this time?" The blonde smiled winningly, a slight blush creeping up her cheeks. Tracey almost didn't catch it, in the dimness. Score one to her.

"Why not? I'm Alex. I just started here this semester." She stepped forward and extended her hand, which Tracey shook firmly.

"Nice to meet you, Alex. I haven't noticed you around before… I guess I don't usually talk to freshmans." Alex looked adopted a shocked and offended expression, placing hands on hips. Tracey eyed those hips with a sly smile. "What?"

"I'm 16, actually! Sophomore." Tracey cocked an eyebrow at the reaction. Alex, taken aback by Tracey's mocking countenance, recanted a little. "Nearly 16, anyway. Give it a few months." Tracey smiled approvingly. Two - nothing.

"Oh, well I'm nearly 18. Give it a few weeks." Alex gave a self deprecating smile, hands up, admitting defeat. She leaned back on the opposite side of the arch, watching Tracey watch her. As she relaxed into the stone, her relatively short skirt rode up a little, displaying lithe legs that made Tracey's thoughts stumble. The brunette, a little shocked with her own reaction to such a basic thing, hoped her mental misstep hadn't shown. Catching the amused, slightly surprised look in Alex's face, she knew it had. Two – One.

"So, why're you standing out here in the dark?" Tracey looked out to the trees, her eyes bouncing from shadowed leaves to the luminous waxing moon.

"It's not so dark." Alex followed Tracey's eyes to the sky, counting out stars in her head. Licking her lips, she glanced back at the girl opposite her.

"Scenery's beautiful in the moonlight." Tracey's eyes slid back to Alex, a fleeting smile passing across her lips. Flirting with a sophomore. This was new. But, she had to admit, this wasn't just any younger student. This girl Alex, leaning so casually against the archway, mirroring her own position, was quite appealing. Her hair reflected the white light of the moon and she reminded Tracey less and less of Bella, more of an angel with missing wings. Her eyes, the colour hard to make out in the light, were bright and sparkling. She even wore those glasses well, defining her features, suiting her face perfectly. Her body, hidden to the minimal required in the school rules, was slender and graceful. No matter how awkward Tracey was making her act. And she had fire. She had to admit, no other sophomore, least of all a girl, had ever flirted with Tracey so determinedly. With so much spark.

"I'll agree with you on that. The view from over here is pretty damn good." Tracey sized the blonde up, running her tongue over vampire like teeth. Interesting. Footsteps interrupted their game as Bella reappeared with two thin jackets over her arm.

"Hey, Trace… Oh, hi." Bella's eyes connected with Alex's before running down the length of her body. A wry smile graced her lips as she finished her appraisal. "Am I interrupting something?" Tracey ventured a quick look at Alex, surprised to find her shrink back a little from Bella, dropped her head slightly. Presenting a smaller target. Stirred into action by a small flame of protectiveness… no, pity… Tracey walked over to Bella and introduced Alex.

"No, no. This is Alex. Meet Bella Graham." Faltering only a moment, Alex stepped forward with a polite smile and shook Bella's hand.

"Captain of Music. Nice to meet you." Bella smiled slightly.

"My reputation precedes me. Oh dear." Alex laughed politely just as her two friends exited the hall, talking loudly to each other. The pair giggled their way over to Alex and Grace tugged at her arm.

"C'mon, Ally. I'm getting the shakes. I need chocolate." Celeste regarded the seniors with little interest before grabbed Alex's other arm.

"Yeah, let's go." Alex laughed and allowed herself to be pulled off by the two, freeing her arm from Grace's grip to wave goodbye to Tracey and Bella. They waved back and watched as the three girls half ran across the gravel and down the sloping lawn to the girls dorms to the east of the main hall. Tracey slapped herself mentally as her eyes followed Alex's long, long legs across the grass. She started when Bella nudged her. Tracey saw she was presenting her with the jackets slung over her arm, the top one clearly intended for Tracey.

"Thanks." They started down the steps as Tracey flung the navy material around her shoulders, slipping her arms into each sleeve with a shiver. It was cold out. Bella pulled her on just as quickly and they turned left, following the same route around the building as the younger girls had but continuing along its perimeter, heading for the lake. The silence was a little uneasy and the crunch of their shoes on the gravel sounded too loud.

"So, how'd you know the blonde?" Bella's question sounded light hearted but Tracey's cursory glance at her friend's face revealed something else. She looked pissed.

"I bumped into her in the corridor this morning. Her friends were skipping out on dinner when I was waiting for you." Tracey caught sight of the lake coming around the side of the building. "We talked for a couple of minutes."

"Ok." The silence was almost deafening as their feet reached the soft springy grass. Bella was striding purposefully, eyes to the ground. Tracey was confused at her friend's behaviour. Surely she didn't have something against Alex, a sophomore that Tracey had only just met.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Tracey tugged on Bella's arm. Getting no response, she stopped and pulled her around so that they facing each other. "Bella, what is it?" The taller girl looked stormily at Tracey for a moment before a look of regret washed over her features.

"I'm sorry, Trace. She's just… That's Alex Cabot. You know, her dad's Jeremy Cabot of Stevens & Cabot, the hot shot lawyers. Your dad probably goes to the club with him." Tracey looked back at Bella, nodding slightly, searching for some significance to the statement. Bella's uncle practically lived at the club her father frequented most in New York. Why was this relevant?

"And…?"

"And she has a reputation, is all. I don't know, Tracey… she just had a certain feel about her. When she looked at you." Bella searched Tracey's face for some sort of understanding. When she found none to her purpose, she sighed. "Sorry. I'm being ridiculous, aren't I?" Tracey nodded with a "Yeah, pretty much." look on her face, before smiling.

"It's ok, Bella. I know your meds are running low." Bella rolled her eyes and turned to walk towards the willow, skirting the lake.

"Yeah, that's it." Tracey grinned, taking her place beside her friend. She slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out her cigarettes with surprise. Bella winked. "Something to relax you." Tracey grinned, all strangeness between them gone.

"Thanks, I forgot they were in my bag." Bella produced a lighter from one of her own pockets, handing it to Tracey.

"That's what I'm here for – paranoia and cigarettes."

A dull thump awoke Tracey the next morning, jerking her from sleep. It sounded like a sneaker being banged against her wall. No, that _was _a sneaker being banged against her wall. Tracey sat up and looked at her clock. 7 am. She wasn't quick enough to cut the alarm off before it rang through her head like the artificial rooster that it was.

"Damn it…" Tracey mumbled, slipping her legs out from under the covers and dropping her feet to the floor. She was just considering standing when Bella appeared in her doorway, already dressed in her sweats.  
"Come on, Trace. It's time for my obligatory, one shot, early morning run with you. We haven't done one yet this semester." She kneeled to do up one of her shoelaces. Tracey groaned, scrubbing her face vigorously with both hands.

"What if I was going to sleep in this morning? What if I wasn't going for a run?" Bella laughed outright, her voice echoing down the corridor. She ducked her head, sporting the "Oops, I did it again look." to her tired friend. She continued in a whisper.

"Come on, you never 'not go for a run'. Move it, sister!" Bella jogged over to the bed and pulled Tracey upright. She snarled and elbowed Bella in the ribs, not hard enough to really hurt but not soft enough to go unnoticed. As Bella, rubbed her side, Tracey pulled on her sweats.

Forty five minutes and a jog through the forest, Tracey returned to her room sweaty and yawning. After showering quickly and putting on a clean uniform, she felt much refreshed. Though she wouldn't admit to Bella that her wake up call had done her any amount of good. Her timing had betrayed her intent; she was just making sure that Tracey still saw her as a friend. Not an interfering self-righteous bitch, as Tracey had called her on one previous occasion, not dissimilar to the one involving Alex. But as Bella pointed out, it wasn't as if Alex had any important place in their lives. She was just a sophomore Tracey happened to have met. Tracey had replied with a low, inarticulate sound, signalling assent. Bella had overreacted to something unimportant. Tracey wholeheartedly agreed with that, nudging her friend's damp shoulder. They'd kept jogging through the trees, Bella moving on to plans for Christmas.

The morning went by quickly, unremarkably, until Tracey got to the dining hall for lunch. She was just grabbing a bowl of salad, about to join Bella who was already stationed at one of the senior tables, arguing with a baseball player called Nick, when she felt a like touch on her arm. She turned to find Alex standing beside her, a small smile on her face as she leaned in front of Tracey to pick up her own salad.

"You cut the line." Tracey observed, waiting for Alex to decide which of the identical bowls of vegetables was right. She didn't push the younger girl on it though as she was in a distinctly good position to admire the body before her. Somehow, Tracey thought Alex was rather aware of the fact.

"Whatcha gonna do about it? Give me a detention?" Alex pulled back, food in hand, eyes challenging Tracey playfully. She slipped her hand along her neck and underneath her hair, tossing the golden locks over her shoulder. Oh, she's good… Tracey thought. She forbade her body to respond, told her throat not to gulp and her lungs to regulate oxygen normally. She rolled her eyes at the blonde and side stepped her.

"You just want trouble." She heard Alex's laugh follow her as she made her way over to the wrack of glasses beside a table supporting several water pitchers. Tracey pulled out a glass and hesitated, looking over her shoulder at Alex questioningly. The taller girl nodded slightly and Tracey retrieved another glass, setting them both on the table and filling them with chilled water. As she handed Alex hers, their eyes locked, sky on earth.

"I like trouble. Makes life infinitely more interesting." Tracey shook her head, breaking contact, and smiled wryly.

"I guess you were one of the little girls who played with matches." Alex grinned, following Tracey away from the drinks and towards the dining tables.

"Now you're getting the idea. Look..." Tracey stopped and Alex moved to face her. She had a mysterious glint in her eyes, very mischievous. Tracey shuddered involuntarily and cursed her body. You work for me, damn it! "Are you going to be in prep this afternoon?" Tracey hesitated and then nodded cautiously.

"Why?" Alex smiled widely and winked as she turned to weave her way through the tables towards her friends, hips swinging.

"Just make sure you are. Important announcement, from the student body." Alex put a special emphasis on that last word, calling over her shoulder as Tracey let her eyes wander. She had plenty of things in her mind concerning a certain student's body but pushed those thoughts away, instead turning to sit with Bella and join in the debate over who was going to win the pennant next season. Any port in a storm.

"Psst… Trace. Trace! What was that quote? By Locke? About time immemorial or something…" Bella whispered across the aisle, sitting at a desk two rows in front of Tracey. She smiled appealingly, eyes darting towards the nearest teacher patrolling the hall. Tracey rolled her eyes and leaned forward, whispering back.

"That wasn't Locke. Anyway, it's not the one you want. Try…" Tracey ripped off a corner of the notepaper she was writing on and scribbled for a moment. "…this one." She leaned across her desk and reached the note out between two fingers. Bella looked around hurriedly before pushing her seat back and grabbing the note. She opened it and read the words quickly.

"Ah, Voltaire! Very nice." Bella put on a look that showed she was seriously impressed and Tracey winked back. At the echoing sound of footsteps approaching, they both put their heads down and busied themselves with work. A tall, grey haired woman in a dark suit walked up the aisle between their desks, looking at the both of them with great purpose and severity. As she passed, Bella looked back at Tracey puling a bizarre face that made both the girls collapse onto their desks in silent giggles. After a few moments, Tracey sat up, composing herself and looked back down to her philosophy essay. It helped when both of them did their homework at once.

She had only been writing for a few minutes, fluidly except for the occasional double line through a word or phrase, when a deep rumbling started moving through the hall. Tracey looked up, her brows knitted in confusion, and noticed the other couple of hundred students in the hall do the same, looking around, trying to discern where the noise was coming from. Tracey knew that noise. Suddenly, it dawned on her. Helicopters. As soon as the realisation hit Tracey, the doors of the hall were pushed open violently and everyone turned in their seats to see what was going on. Tracey and Bella were sitting towards the front of the hall, further away from the doors, and Tracey caught her friend's eye as everyone moved. Her face reflected the same confusion Tracey felt and Bella shrugged quickly before they both looked to the door.

In strode a tall blonde boy Tracey recognised as one of the juniors in the secondary debate team. Dean somebody. He was in full school uniform; white shirt, grey trousers, leather belt, black school shoes, blue blazer. But he was missing his tie and his top few buttons were undone. Some of the freshmans sitting at the back had the presence of mind to clap and even a few juniors shouted encouragement over the wolf whistles let out by the sophomore girls. Dean smiled a little and then raised his hands, one of which was holding a microphone. Her brought them together slow and then apart rapidly, like Moses parting the sea. And very much like the story, a whole group of sophomores, obviously in on whatever was going on, shifted their desks to the side, six pushing theirs together into a type of platform in front of the doors. Dean stepped to one side, allowing another boy, another junior, to enter the hall. Tracey didn't recognise him; he had red hair and was carrying an electric guitar, its cord trailing behind him. He looked much the same as Dean but he retained his scarf, if a little loose around his neck.

"You! Yes, you! Stand still, Laddie." Dean's voice was amplified around the hall as he spoke, pointing to the other boy who froze for a moment before slamming his hand down across the strings of his guitar, creating a wave of sound through the beat of helicopters. He must have that guitar plugged into a hell of an amp back there, Tracey thought. Both sounds faded as drums came in, beating out a steady rhythm from speakers high above them. The sound of kids voices reverberated through the floor, their desks, Tracey's legs.

We Don't Need No Education

We Don't Need No Thought Control…

Pink Floyd. What the hell was going… on. Just as the singing cut through, through the doors strode Alex in what was just discernable as school uniform. Tracey gasped involuntarily, her hands gripping the back of her chair as she watched.

Alex walked in time with the music, hips swinging, smiling teasingly the older boys either side of her. Dean gave her an appreciative smirk and the red head winked at her before looking back down at the frets he was working. Alex had on her school skirt, blue and pleated, but much shorter than even she usually wore it. As Alex put her arms out to be helped up onto the desk by a few adoring sophomore boys, Tracey noticed that it was folded over several times at her hip. She was wearing knee high white socks and black, buckled school shoes with a chunky heel that made her look even taller. Her school shirt was rolled up to the elbows and untucked, tied in a knot about her waist. Tracey closed her eyes momentarily as she caught sight of Alex's flat, tanned stomach. Oh Christ…

Other than that, Alex looked exactly the same as she had the night before and at lunch. Incredible. Ah, but she wasn't wearing her glasses. Contact lenses, Tracey thought. Jesus, you can see how blue those eyes are from here. And her shirt has only one extra button undone but damn… that was something she was going to remember.

Alex was up on the desks now, starting a clap to the music. Quite a few people had stood up and were either cat calling or wolf whistling Alex. She seemed to love the attention, building people up. Tracey could feel the beat, the notes being ripped from the guitar, in every part of her body. Someone had definitely ratcheted up the bass when they added the extra chorus.

No Dark Sarcasm In The Classroom

Teachers Leave Them Kids Alone

Hey, Teacher! Leave Those Kids Alone!

Alex was still clapping and singing along to the music, yelling out that last line with ferocious enthusiasm while the guys shouted their approval. As the volume moved down just a notch and the song returned to its original arrangement, Dean approached Alex and handed up a cordless microphone he had produced from somewhere, keeping his in hand. She took it and flicked it on carelessly.

"Having fun, everyone?" She was answered by a cacophony of shouts and hollering from nearly everybody in the room. She laughed freely and her bright golden hair swung around her face. "Excellent. Sorry to interrupt your study…" A couple of boos and hisses. "Aw… Because we all enjoy prep. But I have an important message for you all from our Headmaster." A few mildly impressed noises from the guys. Alex grinned and gave a small laugh.

"I'm here to invite you all to a day off, on me. Only kidding. Tomorrow is no school whatsoever – no morning classes…" Shouts and squeals from the girls. "… and no sport in the afternoon." Deep throated and loud approval from the boys who all began to jump on each other in excitement. Alex continued.

"We have a Free Day tomorrow… " She addressed the whole room with confidence and a smile. Tracey noticed this with more than a little admiration. You couldn't get her up on a set of desks in half her clothes talking to the school like that. "… To do things that are more important than school…" A lot of suggestive hollering from the boys and giggling from the girls. Alex smiled, lifting her eyebrows with interest. At that point, as Alex was swinging around and regarding everyone with amusement, her eyes alighted on Tracey. Suddenly, there was no one else in the whole world, let alone that room, to the older girl. She stared into Alex's eyes with fascination, a little curiosity and admiration. As she lost herself in the blue, she caught a slight waver in Alex's cool concentration, her confident handling of the crowd. For a moment, Alex let down her guard and Tracey truly saw her behind her eyes. The curtains came down and they truly were windows to her soul, unobstructed and clear. But it lasted only a second before Ale broke the contact with a slight smirk, gathering herself.

"And what's more important than school?" She grinned and threw her fist up. "Everything!" That was met with a roar of approval and the music was quickly turned up, accompanied by the red head on guitar, slamming out a little solo. It had reached the chorus again. Alex surreptitiously switched off the microphone and began clapping again to the music, joined by the rest of the students. Dean started singing into his mic and everyone joined in, nearly all abandoning their desks to congregate near the entrance to the hall, dancing and cheering. Tracey finally turned to Bella who had stood and was walking slowly over to her. The look on her face was one of happy excitement.

"Hey, Free Day! That's awesome. I had a Calculus test tomorrow!" Her eyes lifted to where Alex was dancing on the desks with a junior boy and was joined by Dean who began singing alternate lines with her into the mic. Her look turned sceptical. "She looks like she's having fun." Tracey stood and watched Alex, feeling a little uncomfortable seeing how Dean's hand had slid around her waist as they were singing. She shook it off. It wasn't anything to do with her. And they had a Free Day. She should be celebrating.

"Yeah. I don't suppose we'll be getting any more work done until Sunday." Tracey said, eyeing the tall, grey haired teacher who'd nearly sprung them before standing on the periphery and sighing discontentedly. This was obviously sanctioned but she wouldn't be too happy about the rave it was turning into, Tracey speculated. She looked down to her books. "You want to pack up and go to the crash room?" Bella nodded, moving back towards her desk.

"I'm gonna ping pong your ass." Tracey quirked an eyebrow in response and slid everything on her desk into her book bag in a pile. Pulling the strap up over her head and across her body, she folded her arms.

"Bring it on." Bella smiled, picking up her bag and walking past Tracey, leading the way out. They skirted the throng and Bella covered her ears with exaggerated care as they pushed through to the entrance. Tracey didn't really mind the music; she liked Just Another Brick In The Wall and Pink Floyd in general. But what she liked most and had trouble fighting her way through the crowd after Bella because of was Alex, dancing up on the desks, now with about four or five other people. She was entrancing, sliding and rocking with the music, laughing and shouting the words. Being a rebellious teenager and enjoying every moment. Just then, for the first time, Tracey thought Alex was sexy. Not just attractive, alluring, flirtatious, diverting. But sexual and magnetic. Screw her being two years too young. As she danced with yet another boy that Tracey didn't know, switching her hips and rolling her body, Tracey had the strongest urge to get up and dance with her herself. Which was incredibly in itself. Tracey didn't dance. Just then she felt Bella's hand close around her arm and pull her through to the corridor where a small crowd of students who weren't in prep for whatever reason was gathering.

"Thought I'd lost you there. C'mon, let's get out of this place!" Bella yanked Tracey along until they were free of all the students jostling to see what was going on inside the hall. As they made their way down the corridor, Tracey thought back to that moment when Alex's eyes struck hers and suddenly became clear. The way she handled the crowd of her peers, over half of them older than herself, with such confidence and ease. How she transformed so fluidly from Alex Cabot, popular princess to a complete rebel, rocking out with a couple of older, musical boys in front of a huge group of people. The shred of vulnerability Tracey had caught in her eyes. And the way she moved her body to the music.

Tracey smiled, allowing herself to be led down the corridor by her best friend. Whatever Alex was; Princess, Rich Girl, Flirt, Rocker or Rebel, with a reputation good or bad, Tracey thought she wanted to see more of her. Remembering in pieces of broken vision, the sunbeam spangled hair, the sight of bared tanned skin and the flash of sapphire eyes, Tracey grinned. She definitely wanted to see more of Alex Cabot. In every kind of way.


End file.
